San Francisco

I'm grateful for elevation gains during my run returning to their normal levels after some foot issues. I'm grateful for my health. I'm grateful for knowing earlier when I'm stepping out of bounds so that my subsequent clean ups are less messy. I'm grateful for the beautiful, calm, cooler weather we've been having in Denver, especially given how crazy it is in certain parts of the country. I'm grateful for the mantra "take the next right action" being a formative part of my decision-making these days. I'm grateful for thinking about how I can be of service in ways I'd previously never have entertained because I was so absorbed in self. I'm grateful for the quip around not needing to get back to basics if I’m simply practicing the basics on the regular. I'm grateful when pearls of wisdom I heard at meetings from weeks earlier come back to impact my life in the present.

My latest (and hopefully last) relapse was on November 17, 2021 in San Francisco. I drove down to the Safeway in Pacifica, which is notably right next to the "world's most beautiful" Taco Bell. I went inside with the understanding that I'd get food for some upcoming hikes in Big Sur and Santa Cruz later that week. When I entered the Safeway the well-packed alcohol aisle was right in front. As I procured the goods I needed from other parts of the store, I kept circling back to it with intrigue. That aisle tugged at me like a silent siren song. Before checking out I finally decided I would grab a Tito's vodka bottle to prove to myself that AA was working. I stuck with the 750ml rather than the usual 1.75L because why go for my usual size and pay more when I won't be drinking it anyways, right? At that stage I was nine months sober - the longest I'd been without a drink since my mid-20s - so I wrongly figured this would be a fine test of resolve. I ended up drinking most of that bottle in the Safeway parking lot sitting in the backseat of my rental car. Thus began a bender that lasted until my return on December 7th.

I'm remembering this because I was watching a home tour on YouTube last night, a favorite activity of mine as it helps me wind down and inspires ideas for my own space. Yesterday's video featured a beautifully restored Victorian in Noe Vally, which was one of my favorite neighborhoods when I lived in SF. After a few minutes into the tour I had to stop. Seeing some of my old stomping grounds and hearing the owner talk about her life there made me a little sad.

While I haven't returned since my relapse, I maintain a fond place in my heart for the Bay Area. In my 20s and early 30s SF was where my career truly took off. It was where I was able to live more openly as a gay man than ever before. It was where for the first time I created a chosen family that loved me despite my shortcomings. It was where I felt the desire to be more adventurous than I ever had growing up. However it was also where my alcoholism matured. Drinking was not a crucial part of my life before moving there, but it became one quickly as my anxieties grew from the double-life I was leading. To family back in NYC I was the strait-laced, quiet, humble kid who did as he was told. To friends in SF I was mostly that, but I'd obfuscated core details about my past because I was ashamed, conflicted, and confused. I didn't want my two worlds to meet since it meant I'd have to honestly confront family about my sexuality and that was too scary, too untenable a situation. I rationalized everything by telling myself I'm young so I can punt on the issue for future me. The problem is the lies became too big as time passed. As my alcoholism entered into unmanageable territory the truth started messily spilling out. Friends who were like family absconded while family (sorta) remained, but in some pretty toxic ways. Towards the end of my time in SF I was totally hollowed out. Unfortunately there were several more years of deeply painful experiences before I finally found these rooms.

Despite life taking an unfortunate turn in SF, I do miss it. I miss those friends. I miss the epic nature at my doorstep. I miss promising career opportunities. I miss the Middle Eastern coffee shop on Leavenworth. I miss the rollercoaster-shaped hills. I miss noticing the fog disappear to reveal the Golden Gate. After watching a few minutes of that YouTube tour and now writing this, I realize I needed to wallow a little bit. Getting these thoughts onto "paper" and not having them rattle around in my head with reckless abandon is therapeutic.

What I've managed to rebuild over the past few years is pretty remarkable. It's such a blessing that I'm writing about these solemn memories without a drink by my side. I'm no longer desperately mixing vodka with orange juice or milk to black out from the sadness. Because of honest investment in AA since that Safeway relapse, I'm able to feel down, but simultaneously balance that thinking with healthy perspective. The darkness in fact is already passing as I type away on my iPad. Thanks to tools like writing a Gratitude List every evening I'm able to build a muscle that allows me to see silver linings readily, which is especially helpful during rough patches. Thanks to engaging in long-form writing here on Substack, I have an outlet to constructively process matters and not let them sit in my head without analysis. Thanks to regularly attending Meetings, I have fresh reminders that I don't have a monopoly on pain and I can borrow strength from other people's stories to teach me how to find strength inside myself. Thanks to engaging in esteem-able acts more regularly, I've developed greater self-esteem. Thanks to believing in a Higher Power, I can put my present into the context of what I've gone through and genuinely appreciate today's miracles.

I don't know whether the nostalgic complexity around my relationship with SF will ever fully subside. "Time takes time" as they say in the rooms and I have benefited from that fact. However, I think because of the conscience I've developed in AA the residual pain will never fade. Engaging with that past is an important reminder of who I was, how far I've come, and how dangerous it would be to entertain retreading that ground (metaphorically speaking). Back then I was a lost kid with no framework on how to lead a sustainable life. My reliance was solely on faulty instincts that only got me short-term results. But SF was ultimately just the exterior setting. Fixing myself from within was what I needed to figure out regardless of geography.

Someone at a Zoom meeting I used to attend would regularly say recovery is an "inside job". For a while I never truly resonated with that statement, until now when I've come a little further in sobriety. As a man who is turning 40 next year, I am in a phase of perpetual learning thanks to engaging daily with the 12 Steps. That's quite exciting, even if the process of engaging isn't always easy. I'm like an investigate reporter who is able to get out of my head during tough moments and ask myself, "Why am I reacting this way?" or "How can I choose the easier, softer, gentler path?”. Thanks to wisdom accumulated from the Steps, fellows, the Big Book, and other resources that permeate my alcohol-free mind, I am usually able to arrive at reasonable conclusions. I believe this thought process is what is meant by recovery being an "inside job".

As far as SF goes, I hope to visit again one day. It'll be interesting to reflect on the passage of time by finding out what has changed in that city and what has stayed the same. There's no rush though. It's not like anybody is waiting for me. There is also a real possibility I'll never return. Whatever happens I know the action I take will be motivated by sober, thoughtful reasons that are meant to protect my serenity and deepen how I understand my journey.